


i hate everybody (but maybe i don't)

by destinies



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Multi, POV Multiple, Pining, there's also a mention of nicasia/taryn/locke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28293369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinies/pseuds/destinies
Summary: The Duarte sisters’ spring break in Barcelona takes an unexpected turn when they run into their old high school bullies. What a way to find out that Jude can't hold her liquor—although, as it happens, there’s someone else who can hold Jude just fine.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar, Vivienne Duarte/Heather
Comments: 30
Kudos: 163
Collections: Jurdannet Secret Snusband





	i hate everybody (but maybe i don't)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the 2020 Jurdannet Secret Snusband exchange! My gift recipient was [sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves](https://sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves.tumblr.com/). I got lucky in that her interests (Halsey, travel, mortal world misadventures, angst, Jude and Cardan getting kicked out of places) aligned with mine, and I got to write a little story I've wanted to write for a long time. Thank you. :) And additional thanks to [Luna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkofthemoon) for betaing!
> 
> **Content warnings** include excessive alcohol consumption, references to alcoholism, and discussion of antidepressants (prescribed by a medical professional). Also apologies if I messed up anything about Barcelona; this is very much a tourist's-eye view. Let me know so I can correct it! 

Bars in Barcelona are not especially different from bars in the US. It’s a discovery Vivi has made over the course of her study abroad tenure: everything is different on the outside, but on the inside, not so much. She does like the outsides, though. She likes the tidy streets, the way the buildings don’t rise to blot out the sun as they have a habit of doing in American downtowns. She likes the cozy sameness of the facades, broken by the whimsical surprise of the odd Gaudí contribution. Like a lot of the European cities she’s visited there seems to be some unifying design principle, some common understanding. At home it’s anyone’s guess what the next office building or apartment complex might look like, a mishmash of styles as the cities clamor to reinvent themselves, modernist or postmodernist or deconstructionist or whatever.

Heather could name them all, if Heather were here.

But Heather isn’t here. Tonight, Vivi is out on the town with her two younger half-sisters, Jude and Taryn. Her twin baby sisters, although they hate it when she calls them that. The twins’ spring breaks overlapped by happy accident, so their adoptive dad, Vivi’s biological father, had sent them off on an all-expenses-paid Barcelona trip for a mini family reunion.

Taryn had been thrilled to go out. “I’m so excited that we can _drink_ here,” she’d exclaimed, as she touched up her makeup in the AirBnB’s living room mirror. It’s a two-bed, two-bath apartment with an updated kitchen and certainly beats the dorms. Vivi was forced to give a silent, resentful _thanks, Dad_ , but not out loud.

“You drink at home,” Jude reminded her from the bathroom, where she was trying to wrangle her hair into some style Taryn had sent her from Pinterest. “We have fake IDs.”

“It’s not _the same_ ,” Taryn had huffed, applying another coat of mascara. Vivi got that. It had not been _the same_ when they came to Europe before, either, because they had been with Madoc, Oriana, and little Oak. Somehow parents at the table makes the glass of wine with dinner much less daring.

Jude had eventually settled on a high ponytail, and off they went.

Now they’re out at a bar not far from the AirBnB, with each of the twins perched on stools and Vivi leaning against the bar between them. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t seen them for so long except over FaceTime, but Vivi is shocked to notice that her little sisters aren’t kids anymore. They haven’t been _little_ for a while, not since they overtook Vivi in height when they were twelve, but it’s one thing to not be little and another to be an adult. Taryn, who’s been yearning for adulthood since her tweens, finally looks more at home in the role. And Vivi doesn’t know _how_ Taryn got Jude into that dark purple halter dress, which dips low in the front and lower in the back, but the way she wears that and her lipstick is a stark reminder that Vivi’s sisters are in fact nineteen, and no longer chubby, soft-faced children. It’s weird, and Vivi doesn’t like it.

Vivi gets hit on sometimes—with her undercut and piercings, mostly by “alternative” men and curious women—but the novelty of good-looking twins means Jude and Taryn shouldn’t need to pay for their own drinks. And they wouldn’t, except anytime a guy gets too close to Jude or Taryn, Jude adopts a laser-eyed glare and says, “ _No_ ,” which is thankfully the same in both languages. Otherwise she might start speaking with fists.

“I don’t know why you won’t let us get free drinks,” Taryn pouts.

“The drinks are on Madoc,” Jude points out, nodding to the credit card Vivi puts back in her pocket. “They’re basically free.”

Taryn mutters, “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“You guys are such sisters,” Vivi says, taking a swig of beer.

“What does that mean?” they demand in unison.

Vivi grins and closes her eyes, shaking her head. For a second she just stands there, between the twins, and lets everything wash over her: the sibling bickering, the pungent smell of beer and whatever syrup is in Jude’s cocktail, and the music. Music is a strange experience in bars here. First there’s a Spanish song Vivi’s never heard, and then there’s Halsey, crooning over a Chainsmokers beat, and then back to Spanish with perennial favorite “Despacito.” It’s total whiplash. Vivi loves it.

It’s only because she’s listening so hard that she hears Taryn give a tiny gasp.

Vivi opens her eyes. Jude has gone very, very still. Her shoulders, which had been hunched up around her ears as she leaned over the bar, roll down her back, and the muscles there tense. Vivi is not sure Jude is remembering to breathe. She and Taryn are both staring at some fixed point across the bar, so Vivi looks too.

“Oh, hell,” she says.

On the other side of the bar—of the small space they are all crammed into—are four familiar figures. Three boys, one girl. Vivi has to blink to place them, because it seems absurd that four kids they went to high school with would show up _in Spain_ while they, the Duarte sisters, are also _in Spain_ , and also because they weren’t in Vivi’s grade. She knows them, though. Everyone knows Cardan Greenbriar and his trio of hot, mean friends, but Vivi knows them particularly well because of how her sisters have tangled with them over the years.

Taryn whispers, “What are they doing here?”

“I can go ask,” Vivi sighs. That group of kids has no quarrel with her. She and Cardan were friendly back in the day, meaning “ten years ago when Vivi would go hang out with Cardan’s older sister.”

“No,” Jude says, voice firm. Without taking her eyes off the interlopers, she picks up her cocktail and downs the rest of it.

Vivi doesn’t know exactly what happened, but Jude shed her fight-or-flight response sometime in high school. Now, she only has a fight response. Maybe Vivi took her flight response, because it was Vivi who was the terror until she turned eighteen, when she got the hell out of dodge. Taryn has always been in the middle, trying to keep the peace.

“We can go somewhere else,” Taryn suggests.

“No,” Jude repeats, setting her glass down on the bar a little too hard. “I’m not going to let those jerks keep me from having a good time.”

“Which I respect, and more power to you, but also, like, there are plenty of bars in Barcelona,” Vivi points out.

Jude glares. “I’m fine.” And then she holds up one finger in the bartender’s direction.

“You know those are really alcoholic, right?” Taryn says. Worry begins to seep into her voice like melting snow through cracks in a sidewalk.

“I know my limits.”

Vivi and Taryn exchange a wary glance. Jude might know her limits, but she has no problem blowing past them. Jude may not think Vivi remembers the tae kwon do tournament she sat through when Jude was eleven and Vivi was thirteen, but oh, Vivi does. Vivi remembers how her sister volunteered to spar until she had tired herself out to the point where she could no longer stand. Vivi also remembers Jude driving to school on a single hour of sleep after staying up to finish an extra credit essay in a class where she already had an A. Jude somehow didn’t crash her car, but she had been unbearable the entire day. Jude is a danger to herself and very occasionally a menace to society.

But Jude is also an adult and it’s not Vivi’s business.

“Suit yourself,” Vivi says, with a shrug. “It’s dear old Dad’s money.”

A few minutes later, Jude is nursing her second cocktail, and Vivi and Taryn are trying to carry on a conversation as though everything is fine. Any normal person would be well loosened up by now, but Jude retains that unnatural stillness like a dog who’s noticed a squirrel on the other side of a yard. Or, more accurately, maybe like a deer who’s spotted a human hunter approaching over the ridge.

Jude is no defenseless herbivore, but Vivi knows half a lifetime of being bullied has made her feel like a target.

“Hey,” Vivi says, jostling Jude with her elbow.

“What?”

“Tell me about your freshman year misadventures. Taryn won’t open up.”

Jude snorts. “What misadventures?”

“You have to have a _few_ ,” Vivi says. “I didn’t raise my sisters to be boring.”

“You didn’t raise us at all,” Jude mutters at her cocktail.

Vivi has never seen her sister anywhere near drunk before and is not sure she likes her like this. “What about boys?” she asks, gently elbowing Jude again. Then she raises her eyebrows. “Girls?”

“No. Nobody.” Jude finishes her second drink and, glaring across the bar, apparently makes the decision to switch to shots. “Vivi, is vodka still ‘vodka’ in Spanish?”

“I’m not answering that.” Vivi sighs. “What about you, Taryn? Anybody?”

“Huh? Um, no.” Taryn had been looking at their erstwhile schoolmates too. One of the boys, the redhead, is looking back. Locke. Vivi exhales. Bad news. There’s history there, the kind of history that shouldn’t repeat.

“Reeeeally?” she asks. “Nobody? Not _one_ boy?”

Taryn blinks back to herself. “Vivi, I go to school for fashion design. They’re all gay.”

“Well, that can be fun.” Vivi gestures at herself. God, she wishes her sisters had brought Heather along. The hot lady bartender with the gorgeous tattoo sleeve keeps trying to catch her eye, and Vivi and Heather _had_ established a “what happens in Barcelona stays in Barcelona” policy before she left, but Vivi doesn’t want a hot lady bartender. She wants her girlfriend.

“Yeah, they’re cool.” Taryn glances back across the bar. Now the blue-haired girl—Nicasia, Vivi recalls—is looking back, along with Locke. Not good.

Since Jude is negotiating for a shot of vodka with hot lady bartender in competent enough Spanish, Vivi lowers her voice and asks Taryn, “Are you feeling especially homesick?”

“We’ve kept in touch.” Taryn doesn’t meet her eyes.

Vivi would hold more of a grudge if someone had tried to sleep with her _and_ her sister, but that’s very much not her circus or her monkeys. She asks, “Did you know he’d be here?”

Taryn shakes her head. “He said they were doing a European tour for spring break, but, like, it’s a big continent.”

“Good news,” says Jude, holding up a shot glass. “It’s vodka in both languages. Cheers.”

“You are going to be sick,” Taryn says.

Jude gives her a sarcastic shrug and then downs the shot. She coughs a little, which somewhat ruins the impression she’s trying to make, but swallows it all down.

“Jude,” Vivi says, beginning to worry, “we really can just leave.”

But Jude is looking at her old high school nemeses again. Cardan had been a particular thorn in her side, or he in hers; Vivi never made sense of that conflict, of who had started what. What she does know is that they’ve definitely been spotted now. The blond boy—Vivi doesn’t quite remember his name—seems to make a move to walk over to them, but Cardan reaches out and grabs his arm, shaking his head. Valentine? Valentino? looks sour, but doesn’t approach. Jude stares them both down.

“I have to use the bathroom,” Taryn announces. “El baño.” Taryn had taken French in high school.

“But—” Vivi begins.

Taryn has already vanished into the crowd. Vivi puts her elbows on the bar and cradles her head in her hands. “This is all going great.”

“Not how you pictured our night out on the town?” asks Jude, who has obtained another shot of vodka from God knows where.

“Yeah, not really.”

“Well, I can fix it.” Jude drinks her second shot and does not cough this time. “I’m going to go talk to them.”

Vivi picks up her head. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“So what?”

“Dad’s going to hold me responsible if anything happens to you.”

Jude fixes a level stare on her. “Dad never holds you responsible for anything,” she says. She slips a little when she gets up off her stool. Vivi wonders if she’s really thinking about fighting someone in those heels.

“You’re mean drunk,” Vivi tells her, trying to grab her arm. “Don’t go.”

“I’m mean sober, but nobody notices,” says Jude, which doesn’t make any sense. She shakes Vivi off. “Besides, I have a few things I want to say.”

And for the second time that night, Vivi watches as one of her sisters pushes her way into the crowd of people, unsure if she should follow or not. Maybe it’ll be good for Jude, in the end, to get some of this out of her system.

The guys across the room are watching Jude approach. Cardan especially. The blond guy is sneering, but Cardan watches Jude with the same strange stillness with which she’d watched him. Like he’s holding his breath until she gets there. Unlike Jude, he doesn’t seem that drunk at all, which Vivi notices because, well, it’s a rare day that Cardan Greenbriar isn’t drunk.

But he is too busy watching her and not his blond friend, who decides that he’s going to intercept Jude before she can even reach Cardan. He pushes over to her first and bars her way, and although Vivi is too far away to hear what’s said between them, she notices the squaring of Jude’s shoulders and the widening of the blond guy’s sneer. Because she is watching closely, she sees that Valerian is the one who shoves Jude first.

Valerian. That’s his name.

It clicks right before Jude punches him in the face.

The bar erupts. Cardan springs to his feet and tries to pull his friend away from Jude. A couple of nearby patrons try to save Jude from herself—Vivi could have told them it was a fool’s errand—by holding her back, not knowing Jude has sharp elbows. Valerian struggles hard and manages to break away from Cardan, only to find himself being grabbed by more pairs of hands. There is shouting in Spanish. Even the hot lady bartender is drawn away, trying to signal her coworkers.

The most Vivi-like thing to do would be to leave Jude to it and keep her nose clean. But Vivi remembers asking Madoc on the day of that fateful tae kwon do tournament, while they revived Jude with sips of Gatorade, why Madoc hadn’t stopped Jude when it became clear she was flagging. “Your sister needs to learn for herself when to stop fighting,” he’d said. “If I make those calls for her, she never will.”

Vivi has a lot of qualms with Madoc’s parenting style, and Taryn is nowhere to be found.

“Oh, hell,” Vivi says again, and she dives into the knot of drunk brawlers to pull her sister from the fray.

* * *

“I can’t believe you got us kicked out,” Vivi says.

Jude, drunk, hapless Jude, is sitting on the curb with her head between her knees, presumably trying not to barf. There’s still enough anger left in her to flip Vivi off.

“Unbelievable.” Vivi folds her arms and looks left, then right. It seems like a good quarter of the bar spilled out onto the sidewalk with them, a crowd of people chattering about what just happened. Forget kicked out, Jude’s lucky she wasn’t arrested. “Do you see Taryn anywhere?”

“What do you think?”

Vivi pinches the bridge of her nose. Taryn will be fine. She has the AirBnB address and a phone she can use on WiFi. Besides, as far as Vivi knows, she ran off with Locke. Vivi hasn’t seen the two of them come out of the bar yet, and she would not be surprised. She knows a bad decision when she sees one.

“You keep sitting down,” Vivi tells Jude. “I’m going to figure out a ride home.”

“Your _face_ should keep sitting down,” Jude mutters spitefully.

“Hey, guys? Vivi?”

Vivi cringes as soon as she hears the voice, because she knows the voice, and because in this situation the owner of that voice will only make things worse. Vivi doesn’t have any personal grudge against Cardan Greenbriar—they’ve even sometimes been friends—except for how her sister feels about him. Taryn’s always said he was kind of a dick, but Taryn doesn’t hate him like Jude does. Nobody hates anybody the way Jude hates Cardan. Vivi wonders if Jude has something to prove.

Sure enough, Jude’s head swivels at the sound of his voice like the kid’s head turning around in _The Exorcist_. “ _You_ ,” she snarls, and then stumbles to her feet.

“Jude,” Vivi says, trying to catch her sister’s dress to pull her back, but Jude is already out of reach. With another sigh, Vivi stands too.

“What are you doing here?” Jude demands of Cardan, openly hostile. It would be funny, because Jude is a full head shorter than him, if Jude was anybody else’s sister. “We were all having a great time until you showed up.”

“It’s anybody’s city,” Cardan says, but he doesn’t seem to be mocking her. He holds up his hands to show her they are empty.

“Go the fuck home!” Jude yells, and shoves him, sending him back a couple of steps.

Vivi shouts, “Woah!”

“It’s okay,” Cardan tells Vivi over Jude’s head. “She’s not hurting me. Let her get it out.”

With a little cry, Jude pushes him again, and this time he only stumbles back a half-step, but he keeps his hands up and his stance somewhat grounded. The next time Jude shoves him he doesn’t budge at all, and Jude lets out a grunt of frustration, fisting her hands in his jacket.

And then she bursts into tears.

“Oh,” says Vivi, but Cardan doesn’t seem that surprised. She wonders if he’s used to people behaving badly while drunk or just being drunk himself.

“You’re so a-awful,” Jude says between sobs. “Everything’s awful all the time.”

“I know, Jude,” Cardan replies. He gently pries the jacket out of her fists so he can remove it and drape it over her bare shoulders. Jude grabs onto his shirt instead.

“Why do you hate me so much?” she asks, with a small hiccup.

“I don’t,” Cardan replies. His hand rubs circles between his shoulder blades. “But I hope you’re too drunk to remember that.” He looks up at Vivi, and Vivi feels a brief flash of embarrassment, like she’s intruded on something intimate, before she remembers that they’re in public and, also, she has no shame. “Were you going to get a taxi? I can keep an eye on her while you do. I don’t think she should walk back.”

“Oh.” Vivi blinks. “Yeah. I’ve got it. Where’s your ‘friend?’”

“Sent him packing. He’s back at the hotel, or he should be.”

“Well… good.”

But Cardan isn’t listening. He’s already looking down at Jude again.

It turns out Vivi has, carelessly, let her phone die. She isn’t anal about things like that. Taryn’s the one who keeps a charger in her purse at all times, but Taryn has vanished, and Jude’s phone only works on WiFi outside of the States.

So they hail one of Barcelona's bumblebee-like taxis the old-fashioned way, and Vivi is the one who climbs into the passenger’s seat and tells the driver where to go in Spanish that’s fluent, if definitely not Spain-Spanish. It is deeply ironic that Vivi, the only sister without a drop of Duarte blood in her veins, is the one who speaks Spanish the best. But Jude and Taryn were only seven when their parents died. Vivi had been nine. Two years makes a big difference with these things, especially because memories are shaping and re-shaping themselves in the minds of children that young. As far as the twins’ brains are concerned, they only had their parents for a short time.

Vivi remembers more. She remembers sitting on the counter in the old kitchen, legs swinging, as her dad cooked on Fridays—the special day, the end of the week day—and pointing at things in the kitchen so Justin could tell her their names in Spanish and she could echo them back. Cebolla, onion. Queso, cheese, of course. Cuchara, spoon. The words had a favor of their own, different from the English words she learned in kindergarten. She remembers the smell of toasting coriander seeds, the bright songs her dad would hum, the vibrant melodies bursting from the CD player Vivi leaned her elbow on. When she got far enough along in school, she threw herself into Spanish, hoping the words would pave a road that would lead her back to the man who shaped her.

Sometimes Jude gets in a sulk about their awful twist of fate, or Taryn gets weepy, and Vivi just wants to yell _Justin Duarte was my dad, too_! She feels like her throat is raw from screaming it her entire adolescence. It was easier in the end to just move away for college.

She ended up in Spain because Madoc and Oriana weren’t keen on her going to Mexico. Oh, sure, they’d been before on vacation no problemo, but as soon as Vivi wanted to go alone it was game over. No matter how much Vivi told them it was _very racist_ of them and a total double standard. Apparently Oriana didn’t want her getting kidnapped. Vivi, who has in fact seen the movie _Taken_ , knows she can get kidnapped in Europe just as easily, thanks very much. That had not been a persuasive argument with Madoc.

So here she is, in Barcelona, where familiar words can have entirely different flavors, and that’s even before getting to Catalan, which she can now speak a little but not well. Most of the time, she’ll be honest, she does love it here. At this moment she’s not feeling charitable toward anything.

Cardan helps load Jude into the backseat of the taxi. The driver, looking in the rearview mirror, asks, “¿Su novio?”

“¿Qué?” Vivi asks reflexively. She cranes her head around to see Cardan sliding in next to Jude, his arm around her shoulder. She switches to English. “What the hell, dude?”

“She won’t let go,” Cardan says simply. It’s true; Jude is clinging to him like a very weepy barnacle, her shoulders still shaking.

“Alright, well.” Vivi turns back around. It’s good to have the extra pair of hands. She wishes again that Heather was here. “You’re the official Jude wrangler now.”

“Copy that. I just—” He sighs, and in the rearview, Vivi sees him rub his face with his free hand. “It’s my fault.”

“Sure is.” The taxi begins to pull away from the curb, and Vivi checks her anger. She amends, “Actually, no, it’s not your fault that my sister’s a lightweight and an angry drunk. But from what I hear, the years of prior psychological damage are totally your fault. So, credit where credit is due.”

Cardan nods. Jude sniffles forlornly. Vivi is intrigued by how gentle he’s being with her, how tolerant. His shirt looks like a regular cotton tee, but knowing him it probably costs about the same as a single night in their very nice AirBnB. He doesn’t seem to mind that Jude’s getting snot and tears all over it.

“Hate you,” Jude mumbles, pressing her face into his shoulder. “Hate this.”

“I know.” He pushes a lock of hair that’s escaped from her ponytail. “What are you on?”

“Huh?” There’s a pause. Vivi is watching the road now, but she can imagine Jude’s confused blinking. “I don’t… drugs.”

“Meds.”

“Oh, um, fuck.” Another pause. “Zoloft. I switched this year.”

“You’re not supposed to drink on that stuff,” Cardan says, but it almost sounds like he’s teasing. “It messes you up. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

Jude sniffs. “It’s not like I’m operating heavy machinery,” she says, slurring slightly.

Cardan chuckles. “I did the Zoloft thing, too. I’m not on it anymore, though.”

“‘Cause you couldn’t drink?”

“Like anything would stop me.” He pauses, and Vivi looks into the rearview mirror to find him biting his lower lip in an exaggerated way, so drunk Jude is sure to get the joke. “No, there were... personal reasons.”

Jude is utterly nonplussed. “What?”

“Ah, you know…” He leans over and whispers something to her. Her eyes widen, and then she lets out a small, nervous chuckle. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I was like ‘If I can’t have sex, won’t that just make me more depressed?’”

To Vivi’s great surprise, Jude giggles. A totally surreal sound. She hasn’t giggled like that in years, if ever.

“There we go,” says Cardan, weirdly indulgent. “No more crying. Or, well—oh, okay,” he adds, as Jude turns her head and begins quietly sobbing into the sleeve of his shirt. “I guess some more crying.”

“You seem very sober,” Vivi remarks.

“Yeah, I’m trying it on. Just club soda for me tonight.” He leans over to rest his head on top of Jude’s. “It, cómo se dice, sucks.”

“Like your accent.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Vivi is beginning to get vaguely suspicious. She says, “But you are handling this well. Just used to dealing with a lot of drunks?”

“Huh? Oh.” Cardan’s dark eyes flick up to meet Vivi’s in the mirror. “This isn’t the first time. Jude got wasted at prom, after the stuff with Locke and Taryn came to light. Completely trashed.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You were finishing up sophomore year, right? In like, Massachusetts? And it’s not like she would have told you. If she’s lucky, she doesn’t remember it. I loaded her into the Uber that took her home.”

Vivi’s stomach twists, but she channels the newfound sister guilt into suspicion and narrows her eyes. “Decent of you.”

“Yeah, I was trying that out, too. Got puked on for the trouble.” Cardan leans his head back against the headrest now. Jude’s sobs have quieted down. “But I still remember the Four Phases of Drunk Jude Duarte.”

“I’m glad somebody does,” Vivi admits. “What are they?”

“Angry, weepy, horny, sick.”

She snorts. “Basically Snow White’s shittiest dwarves.”

“Basically,” Cardan agrees. “But you’re not in danger of her getting sick yet, because we haven’t hit— _ah_. Um. Well.” He clears his throat. “Never mind.”

Vivi looks up into the mirror again to see Cardan plucking Jude’s hand off of him and returning it to her. “Did we just hit horny?”

“We just hit horny,” he says, his voice strained. Jude has her face buried in his neck again, but this time for entirely different reasons. The hand he had returned to Jude is already sliding back down his shirt. “Okay, hands above the waist. No, _above_ —”

“Oh my God.” Vivi covers her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“Great. Very helpful, Vivienne,” Cardan says, grabbing Jude’s wrist and holding it still. It speaks to their relationship as nearly family friends that he can use her full name without invoking her wrath. “Your sister is outright molesting me and you can’t even tell her to knock it off?”

He doesn’t sound totally panicked, though. “I think you might want my sister to molest you,” Vivi guesses, turning around in her seat to look at him. Somehow, Jude has managed to thoroughly drape herself across him, but Cardan is showing admirable and frankly uncharacteristic self-restraint by keeping her from doing anything that can’t be undone. “Just a little.”

“When she’s _sober_. Jude, don’t bite my ear. Jude—”

Vivi snickers. The rest of the short ride passes like that, with Cardan deflecting Jude’s advances and Vivi deflecting the taxi driver’s questions about what exactly is happening back there and whether Jude is going to be sick all over his floor mats. They are lucky enough to not hit “sick” until Jude is out of the car and walking up the five stairs to the door of the apartment building. With Cardan’s warning in mind, Vivi is able to jump back in time.

Cardan, who is nearer to Jude, is not so lucky. She leans against the railing and doubles over it, but his shoes and the bottoms of his jeans are still caught in the splash zone. “Okay, great,” he says, gathering her back up. He does not sound entirely tolerant now, but he also doesn’t sound as angry as Vivi might expect. “That’s over. Feel any better?”

“No,” Jude mutters.

“You might in the morning.” He moves them both so Vivi can pass and open the door. “Man, is this really only the second time this has ever happened to you? I have to say, I’m jealous. Not of you in this moment, of course. Just in general.”

“We can’t all be charming teenage alcoholics,” Vivi says, propping the door open so Cardan can help her through.

“You hear that, Jude?” Cardan asks. “Your sister thinks I’m charming.”

“Uh-huh,” says Jude.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Vivi warns. “She’s almost out. Let’s get her upstairs.”

Jude doesn’t make it into the bedroom she and Taryn are sharing. They put her to bed on the couch, on her side, with Cardan’s jacket draped over her. There’s no laundry machine in the AirBnB, but Vivi finds some detergent in the cabinet and they fill the bathroom sink with lukewarm water so Cardan can wash his jeans. Vivi is not sure the right time for the conversation she should have is now, when Cardan is standing in his boxer briefs and Jude is passed out in the next room, but on the bright side, there probably isn’t a _worse_ time.

“You know, I didn’t think we had this level of friendship,” Cardan remarks, dunking his jeans in the sudsy water. “Dealing with your sister must really be a bonding experience. You always liked Rhyia best.”

“Well, Rhyia’s cool.” Vivi folds her arms and leans in the doorway. She kicked off her boots when they got in the door, so Cardan now looks even taller, although certainly not very intimidating in his underwear. “Calvin Klein. Nice. You always struck me as more of a boxers guy, I have to say.”

“Sometimes. These jeans are pretty tight, though.” He looks over at her. “Do you need something?”

She shakes her head. “Oh, nothing. I just can’t believe you’re trying to fuck my sister.”

“I’m not trying to fuck your sister,” Cardan says, massaging his jeans in the sink in such a way that Vivi is forced to wonder whether he’s ever done his own laundry. “She’s wasted. _And_ she hates me.”

Vivi frowns deeply.

Cardan asks, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Vivienne Leigh—”

“Don’t you pull out my full name for this. You’re playing _some_ game here and I will figure out what it—oh.”

“What _now_?”

Vivi squints at him. “Are you in _love_ with my sister?”

Cardan lets out an exhausted sigh. “Taryn isn’t really my type.”

They both know they aren’t talking about Taryn. “What the fuck. How long?”

“Like a year. Or maybe my whole life. I’m not sure.”

“Does she know?”

“I really hope not.” Cardan grimaces at his reflection in the mirror, and then looks past himself to see where Jude sleeps on the couch. “She’d never let me live it down.”

“Okay, well…” Vivi pauses. This is more older sibling responsibility than she signed up for. “What are your… intentions?”

“I don’t have any.” Vivi purses her lips, and he adds, “I really don’t. I wasn’t expecting to see her tonight. I kind of thought I’d never see her again after we graduated.” He pauses and looks down at the sink. “I think, someday, I’d like to be a person she likes. That she’s capable of liking.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Huh.” He has it really, really bad. Vivi can’t imagine what Jude said or did to make him feel that way about her. Maybe it was her total lack of regard for him? “Is this why you bullied her for years?”

“I hope not!” Cardan exclaims, in a way that suggests this thought has occurred to him before, and moreover, that it actually bothers him. “I don’t know! I don’t want to be that fucking cliché, Vivi.”

“We’re all cliché in our own special ways,” Vivi says, glancing back at Jude. A vague plot is beginning to take shape in her brain. Jude is the plotter, Taryn the planner—there _is_ a difference—and Vivi the pantser, normally. But there is something here that she thinks she can exploit. “Seeing as you have no pants, you should probably stay over. I don’t think any of our clothes will fit you.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. You can have one of the twin beds.” After a beat, she adds, “I’m not telling you which one is Jude’s.”

“Darn,” Cardan deadpans. “Now I don’t know which one to jerk off in.”

Vivi pulls a face. “That’s the idea.” And then, because Cardan is hopeless, she reaches forward and yanks the plug from the drain. “Rinse off your jeans in clean water. Otherwise they’ll dry all stiff and soapy.”

“Thank you for the advice, oh wise one.”

She rolls her eyes and leaves him to it. After checking on Jude, whose coloring and breathing are both normal, she heads back to her room and looks at her phone. Nothing from Taryn, even though it’s later than Vivi thought, but Vivi isn’t worried. Taryn’s kind of like a cat in that, somehow, she always manages to land on her feet. Vivi fires off a quick text to her, then stares at the glowing screen, thinking about the way Cardan had rested his head on top of Jude’s in the back of the taxi.

She texts Heather: _sisters are a lot of work_

And:

_i wish you were here_

It’s much earlier in New England. When the three dots pop up to indicate that Heather is typing a reply, Vivi smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/destiniesfic) | [Tumblr](https://judeling.com/).
> 
> If you want to recommend this fic to others, please share the [promo](https://judeling.com/post/638412282414645249/i-hate-everybody-but-maybe-i-dont-13) [posts](https://twitter.com/destiniesfic/status/1342187198968340480)! Thank you so much for reading. ♥


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